


How to be Real

by arcticfox903



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Al with his body back, Alzheimer's Disease, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Puberty, Sensory Overload, Swearing, Young Love, recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticfox903/pseuds/arcticfox903
Summary: At the end of Brotherhood, Edward restores Alphonse's body. But what if it isn't as easy as it looks for Alphonse to make the transition from a soul in a suit of armor to a real, human teenager? With all these new physical sensations and hormones, Al is in for a rough time as he learns how to be human again. Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell relationship with minor Ed/Roy on the side.





	How to be Real

**Author's Note:**

> It's funny—I rarely read Al/Winry fics, let alone write them (I'm more of a Roy/Ed person). But I always thought that the series failed to explore just how jarring it would be for Al to become human again after so many years in the armor, and so this fic practically wrote itself. Any OOCness on Al's part is intentional; his personality has shifted now that he has his human body back, so he isn't nearly as reasonable and calm as he is in the series.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Alphonse woke from the void, only to face the endless, thick white fog of the Gate. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he was actually conscious. An interminable expanse of _nothingness_ stretched out before him.

Then, in the great emptiness, a figure appeared. Mesmerized, he peered into the mist. A savior from the fog, his older brother strode up to him, a satisfied and relieved smile plastered across his face.

“Hey, Al,” said Edward. “It’s time to bring you home.”

Brother reached out a hand, grasping him, and then they were both pulled into reality once more.

\--

Pain.

Al came to consciousness with a whimper, opening his eyes briefly before closing them tightly again. The sun was shining directly onto his face; he could feel its warmth spreading across his skin. 

The sensation was so foreign. Even in the deserts of Liore, where Al’s metal shell had grown hot to the touch, he had never really been able to _feel_ the heat. Senses were different—duller—when he was like that.

“Hey, he’s waking up!” someone shouted. The words bounced around in Al’s skull, louder and sharper than he could handle. Al groaned and curled in on himself, pulling trembling hands up to his ears. His arms were so thin and small. He could barely believe that this was _him_ —that this was his body, his real body. Edward had done it. They had both _finally_ done it. His celebration was short-lived, however, as someone leaned down over him and gently touched his cheek. The pressure burned like fire, all nerve endings alight.

“Al, are you okay?” It was Edward. His voice was tight with stress. “Come on, little brother, talk to me.”

The voices, the sun, the wind blowing across his face, the raw ache of hunger in his stomach—everything was so overwhelming. Al wanted nothing more than to escape back into the void, just for a few blissful moments of peace. But they hadn’t gone through all of this for nothing, and he wouldn’t let Edward down. 

Struggling, he found his voice. “I’m okay,” he rasped. “Just… hurts.”

Was that his voice? He sounded like a different person. Older. Deeper. Disoriented by the change, he cleared his throat. No, that was definitely him making that noise. 

“Whoa,” someone commented, echoing his thoughts. “ _Someone’s_ voice dropped.”

“Shut up,” snapped Edward. Then, more softly, “Al, what hurts? What’s wrong?”

Al managed to open his eyes, just to the barest of slits, to gaze up at his brother. Ed’s face loomed worriedly over him. Behind Ed was a sea of familiar people. May Chang was smiling at him, tears streaking down her face. Hohenheim’s golden eyes were bright with a mixture of pride and relief.

“I just… _feel_ ,” stuttered Al helplessly.

The faces around him grew confused, like they were waiting for him to finish his sentence. Ed, as usual, was the first to understand what he meant.

“Sensory overload,” said Edward, his voice low and thick with cresting realization. “Makes sense. Shit, I should have expected that. You spend years as a suit of armor and then bam, one day you’re back to experiencing the world like a regular person again. Can’t be an easy transition.”

Edward stood up. “Everybody, give him some space. We need to get him to a hospital, to a dark, quiet room.”

He helped pull Alphonse to his feet, draping a large black coat around his thin shoulders. Al blinked, realizing it was for modesty more than anything—that he was naked underneath it. Dazedly, he wondered whose clothes he would wear now. He hadn’t worn a shirt, shoes—hell, he hadn’t worn _underwear_ —for five years.

His body felt frail and little as Edward helped him walk. Al’s heart pounded, birdlike, within the thin cage of his ribs. Every step was a struggle as his atrophied muscles strained to obey his mind’s commands. Edward supported most of his insubstantial weight by the end of it, and Al panted heavily on his shoulder, his rusty lungs heaving with air.

“You’ll be okay soon, Al,” said Edward softly as they reached a street. Ed hailed a vehicle to the hospital, and in moments they were settling into the back of a car. “You’ll see. It’ll just take a little time to recuperate, gain some weight, and then you’ll be back just how you’re supposed to be.”

Al shivered and gripped Ed’s arm tighter. “Yeah,” he rasped. He prayed that this disorientation would be over soon.

\--

It had been three full days, and Al still didn’t feel quite right.

Some things, he had gotten used to. Light no longer hurt his eyes, and everyday noise was bearable once again. They’d cut his hair and nails, so he appeared a little more like an average person and less like a corpse, risen from the crypt. He’d mostly gotten used to the gentle beat of his heart and the soft puff of his breaths as he drew each one in and out.

He was still struggling with other things. On his second day, after he woke from nearly fourteen hours of sleep, a nurse had already set out a breakfast tray. Al had stared at the spread—a glass of milk, a muffin, buttered toast, eggs, and fruit—and then he dug in ravenously. For years, _years_ , he had dreamed of eating again. Tastes exploded in his mouth and tears rushed to his eyes as he chewed each bite.

He groaned in pleasure. Oh, God—eating was fucking orgasmic. No wonder Brother had an insatiable appetite. Had buttered toast always tasted this good?

Alphonse gobbled up the entire tray of food in less than ten minutes flat. He probably should have anticipated that only five minutes later, he would be puking it all up again. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel this _terrible_ , too. His throat was raw and his eyes watered as the waves of nausea overtook him. Once again, he wished to be back in the suit of armor, just so he could escape the awful sensations that came with being human.

Now, it was his third day, and he was sipping carefully at chicken broth under the watchful eyes of his nurse. Although Edward had explained Al’s situation to her, Al knew she didn’t really get it. After all, what kind of precedent was there for boys who’d lived as a suit of armor while their real bodies had existed, barely alive, in a plane that most humans didn’t even know about, let alone comprehend?

“Slowly, Alphonse,” she reminded him. “You don’t want to have another episode like yesterday.”

Al nodded and forced himself to count the seconds between each gulp of broth. By now his stomach had settled from yesterday’s disaster and had resumed its status as an aching, empty pit that desperately needed to be filled. His body was crying out for nutrients; it was no wonder he felt like shit. He sighed, coming to the realization that the process of convalescing from being (basically) a starvation victim would not be a short or easy one.

“Al,” said Edward from the doorway to his room.

Al glanced up and smiled weakly. “Hey, Brother.”

“You’re looking a little better,” said Ed, who sat down on the bed near his feet. He grinned at the nurse, who rolled her eyes and then made her way out of the room to give the boys some privacy.

“I feel better,” said Al honestly. _Although I’m still really far from fine_ , he added privately.

“That’s fantastic.” Edward proceed to stare at him with obvious wonder and delight. The bright, open countenance was a good look on Ed. These last few weeks, his brother had more often displayed a scowl of deadly intent and eyes bright with almost feral desperation.

Al felt himself flush under the scrutiny. He was more than aware that his physical appearance wasn’t up to normal standards, yet.

“Sorry, Al,” said Ed with a small laugh. “I know I’m staring. I can’t help it. It’s too fucking amazing to have you back in the flesh. It feels like a dream.”

Al gave him a crooked smile. “It’s so different. People look different to me, too. I can barely get over how huge Armstrong is; I never realized. Everyone was short to me when I was over seven feet tall.”

Ed narrowed his eyes for a moment and then his face lit up, beaming. “So you’re saying I’m actually pretty tall, huh?”

Al laughed. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

“Al!”

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated by the occasional soft slurp as Alphonse diligently worked through the broth. 

“Brother,” he said at last, setting down the spoon. “How did you get me back from the Gate? What did you give it?”

Ever since he’d had a moment to lay back and think, Alphonse had been worrying over this, although he hadn’t brought it up yet. It was clear that Edward had regained his flesh arm, though he still had the automail leg. His brother had to have offered something—something valuable. He’d sworn to Alphonse that he wouldn’t use a philosopher’s stone. He hadn’t… right?

Ed looked away.

“You used a stone, didn’t you?” accused Alphonse. He felt anger rising within him. His body tensed and his jaw jutted forward, locked in a stony frown. “I _told_ you,” he spluttered, voice rising. “You _promised_!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t use one, okay Al?” snapped Edward. “I gave it my Gate. My alchemy.”

Al gaped. The words didn’t process. “What? I don’t…”

Ed stood up, clapped, and pressed his hands to the end table at Alphonse’s bedside. Al flinched in expectation, wondering what he was doing.

Nothing happened.

“See?” said Edward. His voice was a little raw. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“But… but that’s _who you are_ , Ed. Since… well... _forever_ … you’ve been an alchemist. The youngest alchemist to enter the Amestrian military, ever. The _Fullmetal Alchemist_. How could…”

“What, you think that’s all there is to me? Just my alchemy? I can do other things, Al! I don’t need it.”

Al couldn’t find the right words to explain. Of course there was more to Edward; Al knew that better than anyone. But Al also knew just how deeply Ed had intertwined himself with alchemy. It was more than a hobby or a job or a field of study. In Ed’s hands, it was something even greater than a science. He was so much an expert at it that it had become an art, a dance, an extension of his will. A part of him.

When they were young boys, just four and five years old, Ed and Al had huddled together in their father’s study and picked through books together, learning the rudiments of chemistry at the same time that most children were discovering that the squiggles D-O-G meant dog.

Al had always trailed along and done nearly as well as Ed had, and it was undeniable that he was very bright, too, but it was Edward who had been utterly entranced, right from the very start, by science and alchemy and all its potential.

An Edward Elric without alchemy was akin to something with a hole in its heart. It was like a cat with no claws or teeth. It was still able to exist, but its life would always be a mere shadow of its potential. Something essential would be missing.

Ed must have seen the emotions flitting across his face, because he started fidgeting. And how weird is _that_ , Al marveled, that Al had a face to express things with once again. That he wasn’t just a stone-faced giant.

“Don’t… don’t _pity_ me, or whatever you’re doing, Al. I made my choice, and I’d make it again to get your body back. You haven’t existed in the flesh since you were ten fucking years old, and it’s entirely my fault. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up to fix that mistake and make you whole again.”

Al closed his eyes in frustration. “Brother, how many times do I have to remind you that we were both a part of that decision. It’s not just your fault or your responsibility.”

“You wanted to back out as soon as we started the transmutation! I was the one that pushed on and completed it. Me, and me alone.”

“I did all the research with you and even figured out some parts that made our attempt possible,” pressed Alphonse. “And I started it with you. It was _our_ mistake, Ed. One that we made together.”

Ed groaned in frustration. They clearly weren’t ever going to see eye-to-eye on this. It was an old argument, revived by Al’s restoration.

“I’m just saying,” Al continued in a low voice, “that you shouldn’t have given up your alchemy for me.”

“Yeah?” said Ed heatedly. “Well it’s too late to do anything about it, now. I’m just going to have to live with it.”

“I’ll find a way to restore it.”

“No, Al!” yelled Edward. “This is _over_. I have a metal leg, and no alchemy—that’s just how it’s going to be. I’m happy, okay? I am sick of being in this endless cycle of trying to restore each other. It ends here.”

Annoyed, Al declared, “You don’t get to decide that for me, Brother.”

Edward gaped. “What the hell, Alphonse? Come on! You’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s my life! I’ll do what I want with it!”

“Haven’t you learned _anything_ from this whole saga? It’s a miracle we got things to be how they are now!”

“So you’re just going to be complacent? That’s not like you, Ed! What happened to always striving to make things better?”

“I fucking grew up, Al, and learned something from what we went through.” Brother’s voice was low, clipped, and serious. The air between them was filled with tension. 

They’d never fought like this before. Sure, Ed had always been headstrong and brash and clearly not one to mince words, but interactions between the brothers had never been this _cutting_. Al had the sneaking suspicion that it was his own fault that their argument had escalated, but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to settle down.

Since the very beginning, Al had been the reasonable one, the one who would smooth out social interactions with his level-headedness. He rarely would be one to shout or act out. He was the peacemaker, the rational one.

But now it was like he couldn’t control himself. He glanced down, and his fists were clenched tightly in his blanket. His heart pounded. He couldn’t get over the frustration and the anger and the guilt, all mixed together. With a physical body, it was like his emotions were multiplied as hormones rushed through him.

“Just leave me the hell alone, Ed,” he snapped.

Ed’s eyes widened as if he’d been slapped. Then his eyes narrowed. “The Gate is fucking with me, isn’t it. It changed you, brought you back different. The old Al would never speak to me like that.”

“For God’s sake, Edward, not everything is about the fucking gate!” Al screeched.

Edward stood, now looking utterly convinced of his theory—which naturally pissed Al off even more—and headed for the door.

“Maybe you do need some time alone. Bye, Al.”

Then he was gone, and Al was left sitting alone in his hospital bed, seething and wrenched with unbearable guilt at the same time. He pressed his face into the pillow and hugged it to him, willing himself not to cry even as tears prickled at his eyes. 

He wasn’t the same person as a human as he was when he was in the armor, that much was clear. 

The problem was, so far, Al didn’t like being a boy made of flesh.

\--

Alphonse’s physical progress proceeded well over the next couple of weeks. Once he learned to manage his stomach, he was able to gain five pounds. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things—he still had a long way to go—but it was just enough to soften the gauntness of his cheeks. 

And speaking of his cheeks… looking into a mirror continued to be a shock, every time. Ed had been conspicuously absent since their fight (according to the nurses, he had come by to check on Al twice, but it was strategically done during the night when Al was already sleeping) and Al found that he regretted Brother’s absence when he realized that he was growing stubble and had no idea how to begin properly shaving. An older brother would be the ideal person to show him how to do that. So far Al had been using alchemy as a shortcut remove the hair off his face, but he wasn’t particularly good at it and found that he missed small patches every time. 

It was _weird_ being fifteen, when the last time he’d had a physical body, he was ten. 

It wasn’t just facial hair that was new, of course. Al had more hair everywhere. Under his arms, all down his legs, a faint line that trailed to his bellybutton, and then there was all the hair that had sprouted up around his crotch. The first day he used the toilet, Al had stared in shock at the all the developments in _that_ particular region. 

He was half-tempted to do the Elric thing and find a book on the subject to review all the things that had happened to his body, but he found himself way to embarrassed at the thought of being a fifteen year old reading a book on puberty of all things. What if somebody saw him?

It was strange how that sort of thing bothered him now, when it wouldn’t have before.

As a suit of armor, despite his size, people had actually ignored him a lot of the time. If he sat still (which was easy—without a proper human body, there was no desire to fidget or move about for no reason), he often just blended in with the surroundings. People saw him and thought “inanimate object.”

The other reason for people avoiding him was that they were just plain intimidated. His armor form had been gigantic, far taller than any regular man, and even if he was doing something harmless like reading a book or walking down the street, the average Amestrian simply wouldn’t approach him.

Now, as a human again, he was extra aware of catching people’s attention in a completely new way. When Breda and Fuery visited two days ago, they’d looked him in the eye, smiled more, connected more readily with him. He felt more like “one of the guys” than ever before. Before, as the armor, Al had often faded into the background as everyone focused on Ed instead.

Even though he appreciated the visits, he wasn’t comfortable with being the center of attention yet. It made him painfully self-conscious.

“Well, Mr. Elric,” said the nurse as she strode back into the room with a clipboard. “As of your last check-up yesterday, you’ve gained a substantial amount of weight—well done. You’re still a bit underweight, mind you, but at this rate you should be perfectly healthy in no time. In any case, your vitals have been stable. How have the exercises been going?”

“Good,” replied Al. “I’ve been doing them three times a day, just like you said.”

She checked something off on her clipboard. “Splendid.” She looked up from her notes and smiled. “We can get you checked out today. Make sure to take your vitamins and keep up with the exercises, and you’ll be completely back to normal within a month.”

“I can go?” He hadn’t given much thought to what would happen next.

“Yes.” She pulled something from behind her and held it out to him. It was a wooden cane. Al blinked at it. “This is for you, so you can get around without straining yourself too much before your muscles have fully recovered.”

“A _cane_?” 

“It will help—”

“Surely I don’t need that. I’ll look like… like some kind of old person. It’s embarrassing.”

“Nonsense,” said the nurse matter-of-factly. “Besides, you’re a very handsome young man. It won’t do anything to take away from that.”

Al blushed. No one had ever told that before, or commented on his appearance like that. He found it unexpectedly pleasing.

“All right, if you’re sure,” he said, taking the cane and running his hands along the smooth wood. He straightened. “I’m ready to go.”

\--

“I want to go back to Resembool, Brother.”

The Elric brothers were speaking once again, although their interactions were still a little frosty. Edward eyed him, something almost like suspicion in his gaze, until the expression melted away and he let out a long breath. 

“That’s good. Winry’ll be pleased. She only got a chance to see you while you were still asleep, a couple days after you got your body back. Then she had to return to Resembool.” He paused, then explained, “Granny’s been sick.”

Al was alarmed. “What? Is she okay?”

“From what Winry said, she’s not dying or anything, I guess. She’s just not strong enough to manage working on people’s automail all the time—needs a lot of rest, or something. Winry’s been picking up a lot of the slack.”

“Oh.”

It was hard to imagine Granny Pinako reduced to a weak old woman. Throughout their childhood, she’d been a font of strong will and inexplicable energy.

“I was thinking we could leave on the afternoon train, maybe get in by nightfall,” Alphonse started. “If we—”

“I’m not going with you, Al.”

“Wh-what?” stammered Al, thrown. “Why not?”

“Roy’s got me scheduled to leave for Creta on Saturday. Military mission. Some kind of pseudo-diplomatic shit that I probably don’t qualify for, but he wants me going anyway. Something about being a ‘symbol’ and a national hero or some crap.”

“You’re staying in the military? What happened to getting free of that once we no longer needed them?” Then Al’s brain screeched to a halt. “Hold on, did you say _Roy_? Since when are you on a first-name basis with the Colonel?”

Edward shrugged. “I’ve been spending time hanging around him while you were getting better in the hospital. Everyone else is fucking boring—at least he’s always got something up his sleeve, even if he is a total bastard. He’s a General now, by the way. Promotion.”

“...Okaaay,” said Al, letting that one go for now. “And the military?”

“They’ve still got the best research facilities around,” said Edward breezily. Then his golden eyes sharpened and met Al’s. “And I’ve got some more stuff to figure out. Besides,” he added, “what the fuck else am I going to do? At least the military rank—even if I don’t have my alchemy anymore—means I can get involved with rebuilding this piece of shit country back into something respectable.”

“You really have been hanging around General Mustang,” muttered Al. Then, more loudly, “And if you’re referring to researching _me_ , and why I’m so apparently _different_ , maybe you should consider that I’m growing up, too.”

“People don’t change that much in just a couple of weeks. And I _know_ you, Al.”

Al groaned. How could he explain that he was one-hundred percent Alphonse Elric, with all the memories of his life (as a suit of armor and otherwise), but he was now inexplicably quick to anger, strangely self-conscious, and prone to reacting in all the wrong ways to everyday happenings? Hell, he still couldn't eat without going into a trancelike state, overwhelmed at all the tastes and textures he'd forgotten. 

“My situation isn't exactly normal, Brother. You can't just apply regular logic to it.”

“Exactly,” said Ed. “Which is why I need to do more research.”

“All right—let’s hypothesize that you're right. Let's pretend you find some way that the Gate messed with me. What do you plan to do about it? It’s not like you have alchemy, Brother! You can't even get back to that plane!”

Ed flinched, face stricken. He slowly reddened, pointing a pale finger at Al’s face. “You have some nerve, throwing that at me. I gave it up for _you_.”

“ _I never asked you to_!” cried Al. “Are you going to hold that over me for the rest of our lives?”

“Maybe you could be grateful for one goddamn moment--”

“Everything okay here, boys?” a woman’s cool voice interrupted them.

Riza Hawkeye strode up to them, as unflappable and composed as ever. She wasn't a big woman, but it still startled Al that she was as tall as he was now. Two weeks ago, he’d been staring at the top of her head. 

Al ducked, embarrassed that they'd been caught yelling at each other like a pair of unruly children. Ed just crossed his arms and stared up at her. He was still shorter than her—and Al—by a few inches. 

“Yeah,” said Ed in a clipped voice. “We’re fine. What does the Bastard want with me now?”

Hawkeye eyed the two of them and seemed to decide not to pry. Instead, she replied, “Edward, you're needed at Headquarters. The higher-ups have called an impromptu meeting in an hour to go over the proceedings for the Cretan Delegation.”

Edward groaned and sulked. “Whaaat, what do they need me for? I thought all I had to do was tag along and look pretty.”

“I’m afraid your duties may be a tad more extensive than that,” replied Hawkeye dryly.

“Ugh, fine,” said Edward. He made to follow her, and then turned to Al with an awkward, abashed expression.

“Look, Al—take care of yourself. Say hi to Winry for me when you get to Resembool. We’ll get this shit figured out once I get back from Creta. I’ll write, okay?”

“Okay,” said Al quietly. As much as Ed was frustrating the hell out of him, he felt oddly vulnerable without the promise of his brother’s company for the next few weeks. It was strange to be on his own in this new body, in a world that was completely familiar and yet undeniably different, at least in the way he perceived it.

He couldn't very well admit that, though. He didn't want to be a whining child, a burden chaining Edward to him and making him feel even _more_ guilty. 

“Have a good trip,” Al said lamely.

“You're looking well, Alphonse,” said Hawkeye. “I don't think I got a chance to tell you how good it is to see you restored to your body.”

“Yeah,” said Al. “It’s nice to be back. It's different.” She didn't know the half of it.

She smiled at him, made small-talk for a few moments while Edward made bored noises and fidgeted, and then the two of them departed. Al watched them stride away, Hawkeye in her standard blue Amestrian uniform and Ed wearing black—for once, not his signature red—beside her, his long ponytail swaying in the breeze.

\--

The train slowed to a stop in East City, and Al disembarked, gripping the railing tightly. His muscles were still unreliable on stairs like this, and he would rather not cause a scene at the station by wiping out on the platform. 

He made it down successfully and made his way out of the station onto the road toward Resembool. It was late afternoon, verging on evening, and the air was growing crisp. The scent of fresh grass and honeysuckle drifted along the wind, and Alphonse actually had to stop for a long moment, just to breathe it in.

When he was in the armor, he couldn’t smell anything at all. After five years without the sense, his memories of certain smells had gone hazy, and he had only been left with a vague impression about what things were supposed to be like—freshly baked pies, cigarette smoke, roses, even cow manure. He’d forgotten them all, beyond the palest remembrance of what they should be.

Now the smell of _home_ saturated his senses like nothing had done so far. It was dizzying and wonderful and nostalgic beyond reckoning.

By the time he was done with his sensory crisis, the train station had mostly emptied of people, and the road was fairly bare of travelers. He snapped to attention and realized he’d been lingering far too long.

He hadn’t called ahead and told Winry that he was coming. Perhaps he should have, but he didn’t want to inconvenience her from her automail work and caring for Granny. Now he had about a mile’s walk ahead of him. It would be slow-going, with his muscles still weak. At least he could take his time, this way. He didn’t want Winry to see just how slow and feeble he really was.

He set off, using the wooden cane with a resigned sigh, and slowly made his way down the road. Luckily, Resembool was sparsely populated and there were few travelers, both in cars and on foot, in the area. He didn’t want to be seen with the damned thing.

Al wasn’t entirely sure why the cane bothered him so much. It was certainly helpful, allowing him to distribute his weight to take more of the load off his legs; he couldn’t deny that. And yet, it seemed like a revealing outward reflection of the frailty of this thin body. When he was the armor, Al was used to being, well, a literal _machine_. He never tired, never weakened, and couldn’t honestly be stopped short of taking off one of his limbs. The only vulnerable part of him was the array drawn on the inside plate, and that was rarely threatened.

Was it crazy to miss being a machine when he’d spent years dreaming of being real again?

\--

Al made it to Rockbell Automail later than he anticipated. The sky was mostly dark, with only pale vestiges of pink light lingering on the horizon. Mosquitoes were already out in force, and God, Al had forgotten what pests they were. Already he was covered with at least eight of the annoying itchy bites.

His body was sore and shaking, but Al forced himself to climb the few steps to the front door. Hesitating momentarily, he rapped on the wood with his knuckles and waited.

Winry Rockbell opened the door. She was wearing cargo pants and a dark top, had a wrench in her hand, and some kind of black oil was smeared across one cheek.

She was beautiful. It had never occurred to Al just how pretty Winry was, but it was undeniable as she stood before him.

“A-Al?” she exclaimed, goggling at him. “Oh my god, it’s really you!”

She lurched forward and hugged him so tightly that Al nearly lost his balance—it was a close thing.

“I visited you in the hospital, Ed told you, right?” she was saying into his neck. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay longer, it’s Granny, you see—and what the hell were you thinking, could have given a girl a little warning, Al!”

The words spilled out of her mouth in a jumble, and she finally stepped back.

Al rubbed his neck weakly. “Yeah. Hi,” he said. “Sorry, Winry.”

She blinked, eyebrows rising. “Oh, wow, your voice is a lot deeper than it was when you were in the armor. What’s with that?”

Shrugging, Al replied, “I dunno, really. A lot of things are different. My body continued to grow even while my soul was in the armor, so it wasn’t really stuck in total stasis. I guess it’s because it’s actually using my vocal chords now instead of porting in my voice from, uh, my soul.”

They reflected on that for a moment, Winry cocking her head to the side.

“Gosh, it’s so weird to see you like this!” she exploded once again. “I mean—it’s awesome, don’t get me wrong. I just can’t believe you and Ed managed it, after all. I suppose if anyone could do it, it would be you two boneheads.”

Al laughed.

Winry’s cheeks got a little pink. “And I suppose I just wasn’t expecting you to be older in the flesh. When I saw you in the hospital bed, sleeping, you looked so small. But now, standing here in front of me, yeah you’re skinny, but Al you got big! I guess I don’t know what I imagined—I didn’t think you were going to suddenly appear as a ten year old again, either.”

She paused in her rambling and hugged him again. “I’m just so glad you’re back.”

Al relaxed into the hug, pressing his nose into her hair. _This._ This is what he had missed when he was made of metal. The contact of skin on skin, arms around each other, breathing in her distinctive scent. He was human again.

Then, of course, to ruin the moment, he felt certain parts of his anatomy waking up exactly when he didn’t want them to. Frantic, he broke apart from her and adjusted his coat to make sure that it covered his pants a little better.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Al hastily. “I’m just a bit tired. You wouldn’t mind me staying with you for a little while? Ed’s heading to Creta tomorrow, so it’s just me.”

“I wondered where that pipsqueak went off to,” grumbled Winry. Then her eyes softened. “Of course you’re welcome, Al. You’re practically family.” 

She motioned for him to come inside, but as he passed by her, she grabbed his arm and leaned close. “You do realize you’re significantly taller than Ed, now, right?”

“Shh,” grinned Al. “Brother would throw a fit if he heard you.”

Winry cackled. “If he’s halfway to Creta, I think we’re safe.”

Al’s grin widened. “I usually don’t underestimate him.”

“It’s okay. If he shows up shouting, I’ll just chuck a wrench at his face.”

\--

“What’s wrong with her?”

It was morning, and Winry was cracking eggs into a pan. Alphonse had always known Granny Pinako to be up at the crack of dawn, bustling about the yard or tinkering away on her newest automail creation. The silence in the house was eerie.

Winry drooped, her blond bangs shading her eyes. “It’s worse than I let on to Ed,” she admitted, wiping her hands on a rag. “What did he tell you?”

“He said that Granny was sick,” said Al, swallowing. “That she wasn’t dying, but needed a lot of rest.”

Winry sniffed. “Yes, that’s true.”

“What aren’t you telling us?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Her blue eyes met his, and they were glistening.

“Granny’s having memory problems. It was little things at first; she forgot to close the windows at night or she ordered extra shipments of metal because she didn’t remember that she already did. But then it started getting worse. She forgot to attach essential screws on our customers’ automail. She started to have trouble following long conversations. Then, her work became even more messed up than just forgetful—she wired an automail hand completely wrong and didn’t even seem to understand what she’d done.”

“Oh,” whispered Al.

“I hate it. There’s nothing I can do, no way I can fix her. I had a physician evaluate her last week and he said there’s no treatment, that it just happens sometimes.”

“Winry…”

“I’m a fucking mechanic, Al! I fix things! I even fix _people_ with automail, damn it—but I can’t fix this,” she snapped, her fists clenching at her sides. “It just seems so fucking messed up that you could get your body back after having your soul trapped in armor—which is a goddamn miracle, mind you—but I can’t bring back Granny’s mind.”

She turned to him desperately where he sat at the table, frozen, uncertain what to say.

“You could fix her, couldn’t you, Al?” Winry pleaded. “With alchemy. There has to be a way.”

Al swallowed. “I don’t… I’m not…”

Just then, Granny Pinako appeared at the doorway. Al took in the sight of her, startled. She didn’t look visibly different so much as grayer, wilted, like she was missing something essential but intangible. 

“What’s all the commotion about, Winry?” Granny asked.

Winry wiped her face hastily and plastered a smile onto her face. “Oh, nothing, Granny. I was just talking to Al. He’s back, see? He’s not a suit of armor anymore.”

Granny squinted at him. “What’s your name, again, young man?”

Al’s heart dropped. He leaned forward. “Alphonse. Granny, it’s me. Alphonse Elric. I used to be your neighbor?” She continued to blink at him. He tried to search for another way to explain. “I’m Edward’s brother—you made automail for him.”

“Oh, Edward, of course,” nodded Granny, pleased. “Some of our best work, right Winry?”

Winry nodded glumly.

“I’m going to be staying for a little while,” said Al, feeling like he was talking to a stranger. There was no light of recognition in Granny Pinako’s eyes. “Winry said that was okay.”

Granny turned to Winry, brow furrowed. “Winry, I’m not sure it’s appropriate to have strange boys staying over at our house—although I’m sure you’re a fine young man,” she added to him.

“Granny, he’s not a strange boy. He’s been a family friend for ages. It’s _Alphonse_.”

Granny continued to frown at him, but then shrugged. “Well, as long as he doesn’t bother you and I when we’re working, then I suppose it’s all right.”

“Thanks,” said Al hollowly. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ll help around the house with whatever you need.”

“You don’t have to do that, Al,” chastised Winry. “You’re our guest.”

“I want to,” said Al. Besides, with Granny in the state she was in, Winry looked as if she needed some support.

\--

For the first couple of days, Al tried his best to make life for Winry as easy as possible. He would spent a lot of time with Granny, sitting with her and making small talk while Winry dealt with the actual automail customers. Every so often, Granny would realize that she should be helping Winry with tune-ups, and she would rise from her chair, grumbling that “that granddaughter of mine thinks she’s so far advanced she doesn’t need my help anymore.”

When those instances happened, Al would calmly redirect her, bring her attention to something else, until she’d forgotten the urge to resume her usual job. Then, they’d go back to chatting or reading in pleasant silence.

After spending so much time with him, Granny certainly liked him now, but Al didn’t think she’d made the connection yet that he was Alphonse Elric, and that he was basically a grandson to her.

The closest she came was one afternoon, when she suddenly piped up, “You know, you look a lot like someone else I know. Van Hohenheim.”

Al’s mouth went dry. Usually people commented on how much Ed looked like their father, but not so much Alphonse. Al had Hohenheim’s coloring but Trisha’s softer features. “You… you remember Hohenheim?”

“Course I do,” she grumbled. “He was here just a few weeks ago.”

Al frowned at that. Perhaps this was just another of Granny’s memory-skewed ramblings. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Really?”

“Yep,” said Granny, popping the ‘P.’ “Poor thing, though. He was an old one, you know. Older than me, though he definitely didn’t look it, that sly weasel. He went to visit the cemetery—I think his wife was buried there—and that’s where I found him, already passed on.”

“Passed on…?”

Granny smiled at him, and for a moment she looked like the old version of herself. “It was his time to go. He was smiling, even. He was ready.”

Al felt his eyes filling with tears. “He’s dead?”

“Oh, son, don’t be sad,” said Granny. “Getting worked up over someone you didn’t even know—what a soft heart you have!”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Standing, he bolted from the room and stepped outside, making a beeline for the cemetery over the hill where Trisha was buried. He knew the way to her grave by heart, but his breaths grew ragged as he sprinted across the grass.

There, in front of his mother’s grave, knelt the form of a man. It was undeniably Hohenheim, but without the color that made up a living, breathing human. He was gray, and when Al approached cautiously, he could see that the man’s skin was no longer flesh, but stone. This was not his father, not anymore. It was just the petrified shell of the man he used to be. He was dead.

Al collapsed to the ground, crying. His nose filled with mucus and he coughed, his lungs burning as he drew pained, choking breaths, clawing at the rich earth. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried this hard, so that his eyes ached and his whole body shook.

When he was the armor, he couldn’t cry—and that had felt _terrible_. Al remembered when he first woke in his new form and discovered Edward’s state, that he’d lost two limbs, that their mother was still dead (maybe worse than dead, after what they’d done). He’d wanted to cry so badly, but the suit of armor had no way to produce tears. No way to let out that emotion. Instead, the distress had festered within Al, circling his mind with grief that had no way to express itself.

This pain was terrible, too, but oh God, it felt so good to sob uncontrollably, to shake, to wail, to feel the dewy grass and the dirt under his fingernails. Finally Al’s cries subsided and he was left, lying on his stomach, pressing his nose into the loamy soil. He lost himself briefly in the scent of the earth and the squishy sensation of it between his fingers. By the time he pulled himself together, he realized he was not alone.

Winry was sitting near him, a few feet away. He hadn’t noticed her approach, and he felt a jolt run through him as he spied her out of the corner of his eye.

“Win,” he said after clearing his throat of tears.

“I’m so sorry, Al.”

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, she rose and stepped over to him with deliberate, careful motions. Al pushed himself up, embarrassed at how his clothes were now covered with dirt and grass stains. There was even some in his hair, which he hurriedly brushed out.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” said Al. He could still feel his eyes welling up with fresh tears. “Ed would say he isn’t worth all this.”

“That’s because Edward Elric has about as much emotional capacity as a rock.”

Al snorted despite himself. “He isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Okay,” relented Winry. “Maybe that was a little harsh. Point is that you’re perfectly justified in mourning your dad, Al, even if you barely knew him. He was still your father.”

Frowning, Al eyed the stone figure once more. “Yeah.”

Winry approached the stone and timidly pressed a finger to its arm. “I don’t understand. Why has he gone all… petrified like this?”

Al grimaced. “I dunno. It could be a number of things. He was over four-hundred years old, did you know that, Winry?”

She gaped at him. “Are you shitting me?”

A laugh bubbled out of him even as a tear dribbled down his face. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Winry. He really was that old. He was born in Xerxes as a slave, and then his life was extended by housing a philosopher’s stone within him. That’s why Ed and I look so different than a lot of Amestrians. We both have the Xerxian coloring.”

“Wow. I don’t know if that makes me more or less confused,” said Winry. “I guess I believe it, although I never really thought much about the way you two look—I’ve known you so long. But you’re right, I’ve never met anyone with eyes quite like yours.”

Her bright blue gaze met his, and once again Al felt a flutter in his heart, a swooping sensation in his stomach. “I—uh—thanks,” he stammered.

They lingered for a while longer, staring at the plot of earth marked for his mother, and the hulking statue that was his father. The wind ruffled Al’s hair, and slowly but surely he felt the endless well of tears cease.

“Come on, Al,” said Winry quietly. “Let’s get back home. I shouldn’t leave Granny for long. Unless you want to stay here a while longer?”

“No,” said Al, sparing one last glance at the stone figure. “I’ll go back with you.”

\--

The weekend dawned bright and sunny. Winry slept in late, as she had done on weekends ever since they were children, but Al was awake early. 

He could have slept more, but ever since he returned from the armor, he felt like all he had done was sleep. Part of that was undoubtedly due to the fact that as a suit of armor, Al _never_ slept, so sleeping at all now was an enormous luxury. 

As the armor, occasionally his mind would doze, and he’d go into trance-like states where he barely registered what was happening. Still, he was never completely unaware or unconscious during those times, so it wasn't restful in the same sort of way.

Being awake twenty-four hours a day was both a blessing and a curse. Al had gotten a _lot_ of reading done while everyone else was sleeping. Alchemy texts, mathematics, biology, foreign languages—he had explored them all, learning and soaking up as much knowledge as he could. He also (although Ed would probably laugh at him if he found out) would read novels. Dramas, plays, fiction, even poetry. The books and stories distracted him from the unsettling quietness of the world in slumber, and they kept him from going crazy with boredom. 

Sometimes, in the depth of the nights, he would be seized by sudden fits of terror, desperately scared that he would never be a real human again, that he would be stuck as a machine for eternity, outliving and outlasting everyone he ever knew. Other times he would stew in the safety of his solitude, resenting that Ed hadn’t paid the same price, and that while Brother had to deal with the struggles of automail, at least he was still a real person.

It helped that Mustang and his team would speak to Al and treat him kindly, but Al never felt a real, true connection with them. Instead, they gravitated toward Ed, despite his prickly nature. Part of that was due to Ed’s inexplicable charisma, but Al couldn’t help but theorize that they also felt close to Brother because he, like them, was a living, breathing person. Al, on the other hand, was far too easily forgotten as he stood quietly in the corner of a room, as much part of the furniture as the chairs or tables.

In any case, Al’s relationship with sleep was still a little twisted. On one hand, he relished in the restful state of unconsciousness and found it even more satisfying than he remembered. On the other hand, he felt incredibly _useless_ having to waste so many hours of the day. Days were so damn _short_ now, and the hours seemed to fly by far more quickly than they used to.

He sat on the porch, petting Den as the old dog sat at his side, watching the sun rise. For hours, he stared at the horizon as the sliver of light became red, then orange, and then finally hung high in the sky, which was a joyous bright blue, not a cloud was in sight. Birds twittered away and swooped through the air. A gentle summer breeze ruffled his hair tickled his face.

Before long, the discomfort of his empty stomach made itself known, and he puttered back into the kitchen, pulling out a frying pan and starting to make sausages and bacon. Wanting to pay Winry back for the hospitality, he also decided to whip up some muffins. Food was still one of the great delights of his life right now, so he privately admitted that he also did it because blueberry muffins were really fucking delicious.

Granny was still asleep as well (she spent more time in bed than she ever used to), and Al delighted in the peaceful, domestic work of making breakfast, whipping up the batter and pouring glasses of fresh milk for when Winry and Granny made their way to the table.

He could smell the enchanting scent of all the food--the bacons, the muffins, the fresh fruit--and again Al was overcome with the pleasure of experiencing it. He lost a few minutes just breathing, his eyes closed as he took all of the sensations in.

“Oh, crap,” he muttered as he realized that the muffins had probably been in the oven far too long.

He opened the oven and immediately stuck a hand inside, grabbing the tray, before a jolt of _ow-ow-ow-that’s-fucking-hot-shit-fuck_ overtook him, and he lost his grip on the tray, sending muffins all over the floor, the tray clanging on the wood.

His hand smarted, ached, but all Al could do was stare at it, mesmerized, watching the redness spread across his palm. 

“Al, what was that? Is everything okay?” said Winry from behind him. The noise must have stirred her from her weekend dozing.

Al didn’t look up. He was still gazing at his hand, transfixed by the pain.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked when he didn’t reply and she caught sight of his hand. “Quick, run it under some water, it’ll blister.”

She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the sink, turning on the tap and thrusting his hand beneath the stream of cool water. The relief was immediate and it shocked Al out of the strange daze he was in.

“What the hell, Al?” 

Al didn’t know what to say or how to explain himself. “I…”

He was looking away, but Winry reached out a hand and tilted his chin so that he was staring right back at her. “Alphonse Elric, you talk to me right now. That wasn’t fucking normal and I’ll be damned if I have to deal with _two_ people I love who are having problems functioning. What’s going on? Are you some kind of masochist?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he spluttered. “I just… forgot.”

“You forgot that you can’t just stick your hand into a hot oven and grab a piece of metal?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “Winry, I… I didn’t have flesh for five years. _I_ was the metal one. I could touch anything, do anything—hell, I literally got shot at multiple times and used my body as a shield for Ed. I forgot that it would hurt.”

Her eyes softened. “Oh. Then… what was with that strange trance you were in, just standing there staring at the burn?”

Al’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “That has been happening sometimes,” he said. “Not specifically with the burn, or pain—I haven’t really gotten hurt since I came back from the Gate. I mean that sometimes I sort of… zone out. I know it’s stupid, but I just get overwhelmed. Going from feeling pretty much nothing to feeling _everything_ … it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”

“I never really considered that,” she admitted. “But couldn’t you still see and hear in the armor?”

“Well, yes,” said Al. “But I had no tactile sensation, no smell, no taste, and no physical reactions to things. Like I would never get cold, or if I was scared, my heart wouldn’t race—I had no heart—so it wasn’t quite as intense.”

“You had no real feedback loop from body to mind,” said Winry, and Al was reminded that she was a skilled biologist as well as an engineer. “That’s fascinating, actually. I mean, terrible, don’t get me wrong, but interesting in a theoretical way.”

Al eyed her warily. “I get the feeling you’re going to use me for a case study all of a sudden.”

She grinned. “Can you blame me? Learning about how the body and mind interact, how nerves play into it, how to simulate sensation in artificial limbs--that’s what I _do_.”

“Ed always said that he had really good range of motion in his automail arm, but that he couldn’t _feel_ things through it like a regular hand could.”

“Right, but it’s always been a goal of mine to make automail better, more responsive, more _real_. If I can use anything you experienced to help make my work even better, can you imagine how many people I could help, Al?”

“When you put it that way…” said Al, “I guess I don’t mind if you ask me about it.”

“Great. Now, we should probably wrap up your hand do something about the muffins all over the floor before Granny shows up and has a conniption.” 

She pointedly reached for an oven mitt and picked up the tray, setting it to rights on the counter. Al winced as they both stared at the sizable dent in the wooden flooring from where it fell.

“Oh man,” said Winry with a sigh. “Well, guess that’s just how it’ll have to be.”

Al smiled. “No, I got this.” Ignoring the slap of pain as he clapped his burnt hands together, he pressed his fingers to the floor and let alchemy knit up the wood so that it was good as new.

“Oh, right,” Winry said. “I don’t know why I forgot you could do that.”

“Alchemy is probably the only thing that hasn’t changed for me.”

“Good thing, too—that means I can still call you an alchemy freak! Now let’s go wrap up your hand before you try to do any _more_ alchemy and abuse the hell out of it.”

\--

Winry had a stretch of time where business was fairly slow, so over the next week she spent a lot of time with Al, walking across the countryside, greeting old neighbors, and talking to him while she tinkered with various pieces of machinery and sundry.

The first time they went on a long trek around Resembool, Al brought along the cane with no small amount of embarrassment. Winry was surprisingly nice about it, however, only saying, “Al, I work with amputees on a daily basis; using a cane really isn’t a big deal.”

Despite her reassurances, Al found himself driven to appear supremely capable around her. He wanted to impress her in a way he had never cared about before. She was so confident and tenacious—traits he had always admired about her—that he was extra concerned with being just as strong.

Al finally stopped deluding himself. He had a crush on Winry Rockbell.

For a full day after admitting the truth, even just to himself, Al became shy in her presence, uncomfortable with the feeling of being close to her while simultaneously unable to stay away, always wanting more.

That night, Al lay in bed, awake and staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was Winry, distracted by thoughts of touching her. She tended to wear cropped shirts, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on the smooth pale expanse of her belly and the curve of her thin waist. She was in great shape, with strong, athletic arms and a pert behind that sometimes hid under cargo pants, but which Al would get an eyeful of in her soft pajama shorts some mornings when she emerged from her room for breakfast.

Groaning, Al turned onto his front, pressing himself into the mattress. 

He’d never masturbated before, and at fifteen he knew that was weird. But as a suit of armor, he’d been practically asexual; without hormones and a body, there’d been no urge to do anything sexual, let alone any ability to perform a physical act.

He remembered the awkwardness that washed over him when he realized for the first time that Ed had begun masturbating. The brothers shared a room almost everywhere they went, so it probably wasn’t easy for Ed to find alone time. Luckily, Edward was considerate and would hole himself up in the bathroom, hiding away at random times. It took Al a little while to catch on, honestly, but he gradually noticed how Ed’s showers sometimes stretched extra long, and then there were moments when he could hear the soft pants and rhythmic noises.

The first time Al caught on, he was paralyzed with embarrassment. If he’d had a face, it surely would have been beet red as Ed emerged from his little alone session. Fortunately, his countenance as a suit of armor couldn’t display much of anything, and he’d merely stared at his book, pretending read as Ed prattled on about their upcoming plans that day.

It was perfectly normal, a biological function, he reminded himself. He was a scientist—he could look at this rationally, right?

Experimentally, he reached a hand down toward his groin and began to stroke himself. The sensation was instantly addictive; he adjusted his grip and began a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling, thinking only of Winry, of what it would be like if she let him touch her. He imagined what she’d look like naked, if she took off those tight little crop tops and slid down her pants until they pooled at the floor.

Minutes later it hit. An experience of pure bliss and pleasure rushed through him as he felt his groin tighten. For long seconds, Al merely breathed, letting the waves rush through him.

“Holy shit,” he whispered into the dark. No wonder Ed wanted to do that.

Looking down, he realized he would have some cleaning up to do; carefully, he grabbed some tissues and dabbed away at the mess he’d made. He eyed the stains in a small panic. Maybe he would insist to Winry that he’d do all of the laundry this week—yeah, that seemed like a good idea. 

As soon as he laid back down, tiredness crashed over him anew. He felt his eyes drooping, and before he knew it, he’d already fallen asleep.

\--

In the morning, the guilt finally hit.

Al was aware that Edward and Winry had been dancing around each other ever since they were little. At first it had been the classic signs of a little boy with a crush—hair pulling, teasing and the like—and then later it had turned into a deep relationship of trust and an unusually strong connection. Ed didn’t have very many friends, but he had a special place carved in his heart for Winry; that much was obvious. 

What kind of brother would Al be if he let Edward give up his alchemy for him, and then he also turned around and stole his girl?

 _It’s not like Ed ever made a claim on her_ , a traitorous corner of his mind reminded him. _If he wanted her, he should have done something about it._

 _He was a bit busy with a quest to literally save my life_ , the rational side of him insisted. _I think we can cut him a little slack for that._

Miserably, Al stuffed his face into his pillow. This _sucked_. Being a human teenager was hard, damn it. It had been easy to be the voice of reason when he was basically just a brain with higher functions, no real body to bring into mix. He’d always wondered why Edward swung so wildly from emotion to emotion, and now here Al was, doing the same thing.

“Al?” Winry’s voice was higher pitched than normal. Al tensed, afraid she’d burst into the room and find him laying on stained sheets. He quickly moved to hide them.

“Yeah?” he replied, trying to sound normal, although the word ended with an embarrassing squeak. He winced. 

“Al—Al, it’s Granny.”

Al froze at the panicked tone of her voice and immediately got up, stained sheets be damned. He opened the door to the bedroom and found Winry shaking, her face drained of all color.

“Al, she won’t wake up.”

\--

Pinako had died during the night, the doctors told them once they reached the Rockbell household. She was quite old, and her body had just finally given out.

Winry sobbed into his shoulder as they took Granny’s body away, and Al hugged her close, wishing that he could be touching her in better circumstances. Her face was blotchy and tear-tracked, her eyes all red, but she was still so beautiful that Alphonse couldn’t help but press his nose into her hair and breathe in her scent, glad that he was allowed to hold her at all.

Winry would be seventeen in a couple of weeks, which was the age of majority in Amestris. Although she was technically a minor living on her own with no guardians at this point, the neighbors around Resembool assured her that it wouldn’t be much of an issue. Word traveled slow, and by the time the Central government was notified of Pinako’s death, Winry would be old enough to act as an adult. Besides, Central didn’t care much about matters out in these rural villages, although to be fair that was changing under the new government, now that Bradley was no longer Fuhrer.

It was heart-wrenching for Al to listen to Winry cry over the next few days. He could do little besides hold her, listen to her, and make sure that she ate enough food. He, too, was mourning Pinako, but it was a less intense kind of grief. Granny had been like a parent to him, too, but for the past few years he’d been away on their adventures and had seen little of her. Then, upon his return now, she’d basically already forgotten him.

Al didn’t blame Granny for that, even though it hurt. Her memory had been failing, and it was only logical that she’d have a hard time connecting the ten year old boy she’d once known to the fifteen year old version which stood before her. Clearly, his time in the armor had been one of the things that had slipped out of her mind, unable to be processed. It was hardly a surprise—if he were having problems remembering reality, he’d probably dismiss any notion of a talking, walking hunk of metal, too, attributing it to some kind of a fever dream.

But for Winry, Granny had been her world. Not only had Granny been her only remaining relative after her parents’ death, but they were business partners on top of that. Granny had taught Winry everything she knew about automail, and they had run the business together ever since Winry was old enough to help. Plus, besides Winry’s excursions to Rush Valley and the occasional visit to Central to see the Elrics, she’d spent most of her life in Resembool with this woman. They were each other’s primary source of company, friendship, and family. 

It was probably a blessing in disguise that Pinako passed away before even more of her mind was lost. Al had been dreading the day that she would forget how to do simple things, like brush her teeth, or even worse, forget Winry’s name. It had never gotten to that point, thankfully.

Slowly, over the next week, Winry began to function again. Al stopped having to prompt her to eat; she regained her appetite. For hours at a time, she would get distracted as she worked on some new automail prosthetics. Once, she broke down crying again and told Al, through breathy hiccups, that she wanted to show Granny the new innovation she’d made—but now she never could.

“You can tell me about it,” offered Al. “I’ll listen.”

Winry gave him a watery smile. “Thanks, Al… but I don’t think you’d understand quite as well. It just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Do it anyway,” Al urged. “Even if I don’t get it all, I want to hear it. Besides, I might understand more than you think, I’m not _too_ stupid.”

“I didn’t mean that. You know you’re a genius.”

“We’re both prodigies in our own fields, Win.”

“I’m not—”

“Winry,” he said sternly. “You are not about to deny that you’re not an engineering genius. You’ve been making the best automail prosthetics in Amestris—and by all accounts, the world—since you were like eleven years old.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Well, yeah…”

“Show me,” he said. “Show me, just like Granny used to show you. I can’t think of anything that would make her more proud than knowing you’re here, teaching people the same things she taught you. If you pass on her knowledge, she’ll never die, not really. She’ll always be a part of it.”

Winry burst into fresh tears. Al’s stomach sunk. “I’m sorry,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean—”

 

“Oh shut up, you big idiot,” said Winry, grabbing him in a hug. “That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard anyone say. When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I was stuck as a mechanical construct with a unique perspective on human life,” quipped Al.

Winry laughed and wiped her eyes, drawing away from him. “No kidding. What was it like?”

She didn’t elaborate, and Al searched her eyes for what she was really asking. Slowly, he began to speak. “It was like being above people, separate from them. And I suppose I do literally mean above people—I was really, ridiculously tall—but it also was a mental thing. To be honest, sometimes I felt like some sort of god, looking down on all these people fighting and loving and living, and being completely cut off from it all. 

“It was jarring, how people treated me, especially at the start. I was only ten, you know? But people always thought that I was an adult, some big hulking guy in the armor. No one, except Ed, treated me like the kid I was at heart. Half the time, people were totally intimidated by me. Like one time I picked up a teddy bear that a little girl dropped in the market one day, and when I went to give it back to her she actually ran away screaming. That was the worst. 

“Being big was pretty cool in fights, I can’t deny that—and it was awesome to beat Ed all the time when we sparred—but most of the time it sucked. I was always shuffled into some storage compartment when we traveled, or ignored like I was just decoration. And on top of all that, every time I had to explain that Edward was the older brother, I had to get an earful of his ranting about being short.”

Winry snorted, but then her face sobered again. “That sounds horrible. I’m sorry I didn’t know… I didn’t realize…”

Al sighed. “I couldn’t complain about it to Ed, of course—it would only make him feel guiltier, and he didn’t need that. We made a lot of friends along the way, but there was never any time that seemed appropriate to, I dunno, vent to them about it.

“Besides, it wasn’t all bad,” admitted Al. “I miss it sometimes. Being real is exhausting.”

“Al,” Winry said carefully. “You were real the whole time.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” said Al distantly. “Felt like I was a machine. A mechanical boy.”

“As a mechanic, I know a lot about machines, Alphonse Elric, and you are the furthest thing from one.”

Her eyes were dark as she leaned forward, her gaze fixed on his. Her hand brushed across his jaw, and Al’s eyes fluttered shut as his breath hitched. “Winry,” he said, but his voice came out different, lower, huskier than he knew it could.

“Is this real enough for you, Alphonse?” she said, and then her lips met his.

It was fucking amazing, the soft slide of her plush lips across his, the way that she opened her mouth and so did he. Reactively, he cradled her shoulders and ran his hand down her back, reveling in the closeness, the warm heat of her tongue pressed to his.

Finally they pulled apart and breathed, foreheads touching.

It was so sweet for a moment, as they grinned at each other with dazed expressions.

Then, Alphonse remembered the guilt. Oh God. He’d just kissed Winry. Ed was going to kill him.

He stood up, jerkily. “I… I have to go.”

“What? Al, no you don’t,” said Winry.

“I… I’ll be back later,” he said, already rushing out the door. He had to get away from her, otherwise he didn’t know what else he would do. What else she would let him do—

 _Don’t think about that, don’t think about that,_ he reminded himself. He’d just kissed Edward’s girl, he couldn’t be fantasizing about doing _more._

He jogged along the main road for a while, emotions all over the place. Elation that they’d actually kissed. Dread about if Edward found out. Worry that he’d left Winry all alone, and she was still grieving over Pinako’s death. Devastation that maybe she was just all messed up in her grief, and she didn’t actually like him—she’d just kissed him because her emotions were out of whack and he was close at hand. Terror at what he’d say to her when he returned, and what she’d say to him. Relief that if she rejected him, at least he didn’t have to face Edward about it. Hope that somehow, they could pick up right where they left off.

Overcome, Al put his head in his hands and stopped in his tracks. 

“Are you all right, young man?” someone called a minute later. He looked up to the face of a kindly woman who had pulled up in a car next to him. She was eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, sorry, yes,” said Al, his voice high pitched. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, but yes I’m completely fine.”

She looked a little uncertain. “Do you live close to here?”

“Yes, definitely, about a half mile down the road,” he said. “I just stepped out for some air, had to clear my head, headaches, you see.”

“...Do you need a ride back?”

“Oh no, I’m doing a lot better now. Thank you, though.”

After some more reassurances, she drove off. Al sighed in relief. Clearly he didn’t look normal if random strangers were concerned about his mental health. It was a wonder that Winry liked him at all—he was all over the place, a mess of a person.

Al wandered around far longer than he intended to, and it was dusk by the time he returned to the Rockbell house. His legs were shaky with the exertion, and his stomach was leaden with dread as he made his way up the stoop, speech prepared.

When he entered the house (Winry had given him a key a while back), he turned on a light and nearly jumped out of his skin when the room illuminated to reveal Winry sitting silently in a chair at the entryway. 

“So,” she said ominously, “you’re back.”

Al gulped and started to explain. “Winry, we can’t do this. It wouldn’t be—”

“Just shut up, Alphonse,” she snapped, her voice deadly serious. Al fell silent. He wasn’t about to talk over that tone.

Winry stood and stalked toward him. “If you don’t want to be with me, then fine. I shouldn’t have kissed you. But you have no right—no fucking right—to just run out like that with no explanation. I thought you respected me more than that, Al.”

“I do respect you,” pleaded Al.

“No. You and Ed have abandoned me one too many times. Every time I see you, you’re both running, one foot already out the door, off to your next adventure or mission or whatever. And then I’m left alone. Usually, at least I have Granny to keep me company. Now I have no one. And I am fucking _sick_ of sitting at home waiting for you and worrying about you.”

Al’s heart sunk even lower than he thought it could. Shame colored his cheeks. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Softly, he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” sighed Winry. “You’re not cruel, Al. You’re one of the kindest people I know. You’ve been here with me for weeks, through this whole thing with Granny, through her d-death,” said Winry. “That’s why it hurts so much. You’ve been my rock, and now I’ve gone and pushed you away.”

“That’s totally not it, Winry—you didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You’re not actually going to use the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line on me, are you?”

“No,” said Al. “It’s more like, ‘it’s not me, it’s Ed.’”

Winry blinked. “What?”

“You and Ed are practically destined—I can’t get in the way of that. It’s not fair to him, not after everything he’s sacrificed to me. I saw the way you looked at him last time we visited, and you’ve been the only girl he’s really loved for ages. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Whoa, whoa,” she said, holding her hands up. “Are you actually, legitimately telling me that you’re rejecting me because of _Edward_?”

Al blinked. “Are you saying you _don’t_ have a crush on him?”

Winry hesitated, shifting. “Well, I sort of did. But not anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“Edward is like a fucking comet,” explained Winry after a moment. “When you’re with him, you just hang on and see if you can survive the ride. You might have an amazing time, or you might crash and burn. There’s an appeal in that; I’m sure _you_ know; you’ve been sticking with him since day one.”

Al nodded. He knew the “wild ride of Edward Elric” better than anyone.

“But I think, long term, he and I are just too alike. We’re too quick to anger, too obsessed with our passions, too driven to be the very best. We get in the absolute _worst_ fights.”

She turned her gaze on him, and her eyes grew soft. “You’re so much like Edward in so many ways—you’re both absolutely brilliant, and courageous, and determined. Plus, you’re way better than he is at reading people. You’re genuine and sweet in a way that I honestly just don’t think Edward is capable of. Can you imagine him here in your place, trying to comfort me through Granny’s death? It would be pathetic, we both know how shit he is at that.”

“Yeah, Brother isn’t known for his tact.”

Winry smirked. Then she grew serious again. “But I hadn’t seen you in the flesh since you were a little boy, Al… at least until just recently. You have to realize, I’m only human, and it was hard to develop a crush on a guy made out of metal. But… well, now I can see that you’ve grown up a lot. It was a shock.”

“You’re telling me,” said Al with feeling. “I get back in my body and half of puberty is already over.”

Winry giggled. “Well, at least from my end, I like all the changes. So you see? I’m over Ed—way over him. I know exactly who I want now.”

Well, that was completely awesome to hear. Joy rushed through him, only to be swiftly extinguished as he realized, “But this is still going to kill Ed. He’s already mad at me, and this will be, like, the ultimate betrayal.”

“Alphonse,” said Winry. “Edward doesn’t have some kind of claim on me. I can make my own decisions about my own life, and just because he restored you to your body doesn’t mean he gets whatever he wants. I’m half of that relationship, and if I don’t want him, he doesn’t get me.” She added more quietly, “I know you’re used to being in his shadow, Al. But you don’t have to stay there.”

He couldn’t stop himself anymore—he took two decisive strides toward her, leaned down, and crushed her mouth with his. She made the most delicious noises as he kissed her, tongues clashing, lips sliding over each other. Her hands were scrabbling at his chest, and his were fisted in her hair.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, by the way,” he said between breaths.

“Me neither,” said Winry, and her smile was blinding.

\--

The next days were a blur for Al. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so happy. He spent long hours with Winry in the workshop, watching as she tinkered with automail plates, and after some time he suggested using his alchemy to mold specialized pieces of metal into hard-to-create shapes. With the precision of alchemical transmutation, he could make parts exactly to Winry’s specifications after a few tries.

Winry, naturally, was beside herself. “This could revolutionize the automail industry, Al—I don’t know why people haven’t done it before.”

“Probably because alchemy and automail engineering are rare enough talents on their own,” suggested Al. “Chances are, they never really meet. Plus,” he added a bit bashfully, “most alchemists aren’t quite as skilled as Ed and me.”

“True enough,” agreed Winry. “Just imagine how perfectly we can fit automail to people, especially if they’re still growing. Before, we had to make do with a close approximation of the right sizes; now we can have it _perfect_. Oh man, everyone in Rush Valley is going to be so jealous when they hear about this!”

She kissed him square on the lips and then proceeded to chatter away about how great this was going to be. Al just leaned back and watched her, delighting in the way things were already so easy between them.

When he wasn’t in the workroom with Winry—or kissing the living daylights out of her—Al had devoted much of his time to re-experiencing the things he’d missed most when he was in the armor. This resulted in a few more instances of zoning out, but overall those episodes had lessened in number over the past weeks as he readjusted to life in the flesh.

One night, they made chocolate cake for the hell of it, and Al went nearly unconscious at the taste of it, totally lost in the sensation. Another time, he found one of the neighbor’s cats, and pet it for over an hour straight, running his hands through the incredibly soft fur over and over again as it purred away. Winry had had to drag him away from the thing.

“You can go pet it some more tomorrow, Al,” she said, laughing.

“It’s just… so _soft,_ ” he protested. “And so little.”

“I think I remember Ed saying that even when you were in the armor, you had some strange obsession with cats.”

Al shrugged, remembering. “I almost imagined that I could feel them, when I was in the armor. They were so fragile and soft, so unlike how I was at the time—we were total opposites. And for the most part, the cats I met weren’t scared of me. They didn’t recognize me as a danger or anything, as long as I didn’t startle them by moving too fast. Mostly they were just curious. It was a refreshing change from how a lot of other things saw me…”

The days proceeded like that, with Winry and Al both learning from the other. They talked for long hours about what Al had experienced during his travels and what it was like being a suit of armor, and in return Winry taught him about her work and shared her dreams of establishing Rockbell as the premier automail creator in all of Amestris.

“You mean you’re not already?” Al asked.

“Rockbell Automail doesn’t have enough customers yet,” said Winry. “The ones we do have are extremely satisfied, but a lot of people don’t travel all the way out to East Amestris to come here.”

“Ever thought of relocating?”

“Maybe a few years from now,” answered Winry softly. “I’m not quite ready to leave Resembool yet, not so soon after Granny. Besides, I’m going to have my hands full dealing with all of our clients without her.”

“Admit it—you were doing all the work already, there at the end.”

“That’s true,” said Winry. “Maybe it won’t be so tough after all.”

Finally, one afternoon a letter arrived at Rockbell Automail. The envelope was clearly beaten up and had come a long distance; Al checked the stamp and sure enough, it was from Creta.

Ed had written to him.

Suddenly nervous, Al retreated to his room and unfolded the thing. It was pretty long for Edward-standards. Swallowing, he settled in to read.

_Hey Al,_

__

__

_I hope things are good at home and Winry hasn’t brained you with a wrench already. God knows she’d have done it to me at least three times by now if I’d gone with you. Creta is pretty weird, but I like it here so far. Their mail system sucks, by the way, so you’ll probably get this a stupidly long time after I send it. Whatever._

_Apparently it doesn’t matter much to the Cretans that I can’t do alchemy anymore; they’re still completely obsessed with me. It’s actually kind of scary. Word got out in their country that if we hadn’t stopped Father and the Dwarf in the Flask, then Creta would probably be in ruins by now, so basically they treat me like a massive celebrity. You should see how annoyed it makes Roy; you can tell he wants all the attention for himself. Selfish, showy bastard._

_I did some research with a focus on humans who have been altered by alchemy and then attempted returned to their original state. That was the closest I could get to something that even remotely resembled your situation. Of course, that meant sifting through some nasty stuff on chimaeras—ugh—and reading about people who have tried to transmute their own bodies. There was even one case study on a woman who tried to grow back her severed finger using biological alchemy (it went completely, terribly wrong, duhh—if that were possible, I’d have recreated both my limbs ages ago). You should read it, though, it was gruesome and fascinating in the best kind of way._

_Anyway, I’m getting off track. The point is that none of it helped, because nobody has been through anything like what happened to you. If you’ll believe it, I even tried asking Roy if he’d come across anything relevant in his alchemical studies—which were ages ago, since he’s fucking old, so it was a stretch—but he was no help at all, besides suggesting that I just try “giving you time to readjust.”_

_Just to clarify, I’m not_ mad _at you for being a little different than before; I’m just fucking pissed that if you changed because of the Gate’s interference, I have no way of getting back there and fixing you. Wouldn’t that be the worst? It takes my alchemy, making it so I can’t confront it again, and then leaves me with a problem that I need alchemy to fix. It would be just like that fucking bitch-ass Gate to pull that on me._

__

__

_I dunno when you’ll get this, but I should be back in Central on July 10th, and then I’ll take the train straight to Resembool to see you and Winry and Granny. That is, if Roy doesn’t delay me by making me write some bullshit report about the Cretan trip. I don’t see why he needs one; he’s here with me, after all, he can write his own goddamn report._

_Anyway, I’ll see you then. Stay safe, brother—I didn’t bring your body back just to have you do something stupid. You were always the reasonable one, so I shouldn’t have to say that, but the way we left things makes me a little nervous. Yeah, I can admit it._

_Love,_

_Ed_

Al let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Ed didn’t hate him. That was good. He was clearly still suspicious about Al’s whole situation, but he wasn’t being completely irrational. Knowing that Ed had at least forgiven him for his outbursts back in Central was a big relief.

Al desperately hoped that when they saw each other next, it wouldn’t be too tense; he wasn’t used to fighting with Brother, and being at odds with him was foreign and uncomfortable. 

Besides, Al _was_ readjusting, wasn’t he? He wasn’t sure he’d ever achieve the unnaturally placid, perfectly logical state that he’d had when he was in the armor, but he was beginning to find a middle ground. He was, at least, certain that he wouldn’t ever be quite as temperamental as Edward—it just wasn’t in his nature.

Ed still didn’t know about the Winry thing, though. The thought of having that conversation filled Al with dread and guilt, despite Winry’s insistence that he was doing nothing wrong. 

Then, Al did a double take at the date that Ed mentioned in the letter: July 10th. Today was July 9th.

Edward would probably be in Resembool _tomorrow_. Shit.

“Winry!”

“What’s up, Al?” said Winry from her workroom. She sounded distracted.

“Win, Brother’s coming home tomorrow—I just got his letter. He said the mail system is really slow in Creta—”

“He’s coming _tomorrow_?” shrieked Winry.

Al blinked. “Is… is that a problem?”

“How am I going to tell him about Granny?” moaned Winry, emerging from the workroom, her arms smudged with oil. “And… we’re going to have to tell him about us, too.”

“Right,” said Al faintly. He’d gotten so swept up in his own issues, that he’d forgotten they’d have to break the news to Ed about Granny, too. _Great, Alphonse,_ he scolded himself. _Way to be selfish._

Winry looked so distraught standing before him that Al immediately knew he had to come up with some kind of plan.

Taking a deep breath, Al squared his shoulders and faced her properly. “We’ll face everything one thing at a time, okay Winry? We’ll tell him about Granny, first—that won’t be easy, but there’s no way we can avoid that one, not after he arrives here and finds her gone.”

Winry nodded.

“Once he’s had some time to come to terms with that,” said Al, “then we can bring up the thing going on between you and me.”

“The thing?” repeated Winry, one eyebrow cocked.

“The… the relationship thing,” stammered Al awkwardly. “The thing where you’re my girlfriend.” He then paused, alarmed. “You… you are, right?”

What if she just wanted a friends-with-benefits kind of deal? They’d never referred to each other by any label. Could he be reading more into this—

“Oh, stop freaking out, Al,” said Winry, chuckling. “You should see your face.” She smiled, and this time it was in a genuine, sweet way. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

“That’s… that’s awesome. Really awesome.”

“For a genius, you sure have a way with words,” she teased.

“Oh hush,” said Al, blushing. “My vocabulary and my knowledge of alchemy are two completely separate areas of study, thank you very much.”

“I guess that explains Edward. Half of _his_ vocabulary is swearing. I’m surprised it didn’t rub off on you more, with how much you hang around him.”

“Unlike Brother, I care what people think about me, so I don’t act like a _total_ savage. I have a reputation to maintain,” sniffed Al. “Besides, can you imagine if some big guy dressed in armor was yelling everywhere he went, swearing up a storm? It’s not as cute as it is when it comes from some little blond kid. I would have scared everyone off if I’d been like that!”

Winry’s eyes softened. “Being in that armor really changed you, didn’t it?”

Her words sent a stab of fear into his gut; she was echoing Edward without knowing it. She must have seen some expression cross his face, because she added hastily, “I just mean, what you experienced over those years. You wouldn’t be the same person without that.”

Al nodded slowly. “I had to be polite and soft-spoken, otherwise I would have intimidated everyone away. I hope I would have had better manners than Edward no matter what, but… well, you’re right. It did make me act in certain ways.”

“I hate that you had to go through that,” said Winry, stepping close to him. She smelled like vanilla and cedar and rust. “But I’m glad, too.”

“Glad?” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. Their faces were inches apart.

“It made you into the guy I’ve fallen in love with,” she said.

And then they were kissing, mouths open and hot. Winry’s body was warm and so, so perfect in his arms, and her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. Over these last weeks they’d grown so much better at kissing, too—no longer were their teeth clacking or rhythms out of sync. Now they kissed languorously, skillfully, their bodies breathing and shuddering at the same time, their noses brushing together affectionately between breaks for air.

Al felt himself growing aroused, as he always did with Winry, and he yearned to take this even further, to explore more with her. Experimentally, he let his hands roam from her hair, to her shoulders, to her back—and then, slowly, he brushed across her breast.

Their mouths broke apart, and he looked at her straight on. Her pupils were large and dark, nearly eclipsing the blue of her irises. “You can touch me there,” she said. She knew he was asking permission. “I want you to.” Looking him dead in the eyes, she tugged off her shirt and unhooked her bra.

That was all Al could wait for before his hands were cupping her breasts, and oh God it was so fucking hot. He touched the nubs of her nipples, and like a moth drawn to flame his fingers couldn’t help but rub them, stroking the pebbled points.

Winry moaned in an insanely hot, breathy way, and Al could only barely stop himself from coming in his pants right there and then.

He was lost in her, totally consumed in the curves of her body, the puff of her warm breaths on his cheeks, the tightness in his groin, the utter certainty that he loved every inch of this girl. 

He realized only later that he’d had another one of those episodes, when he came back to reality with Winry cupping his face and saying his name.

“Al. Alphonse. Come back to me,” she was saying.

His eyes met hers. He was sitting down. When did that happen?

“What—Oh God, did I zone out again?”

She nodded. “Are you okay?”

Al groaned. Not again. “I’m more than okay, hell, Winry. That was… that was so great. I feel pretty stupid for ruining it with my… problem.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I mean, it’s a little scary when you just go all frozen and unresponsive… but I guess I can forgive you. It means you’re getting really overwhelmed with all the physical sensations, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, and that was like, only the _best physical sensation in the entire world_.”

“I fear the day we take things any further,” said Winry dryly, but she was grinning.

“Don’t let that stop you,” said Al, alarmed. “I swear, I’ll work on it—it hasn’t been happening as much—”

Winry laughed. “We’ll get there sometime, Al. I’m not going anywhere, as long as you aren’t. Besides,” she added with an evil smirk, “it’s pretty fucking flattering to have a guy go catatonic with pleasure from touching you.”

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I’ll have to do it more often.”

\--

Edward Elric arrived the next morning in the midst of a massive summer thunderstorm. Huge sheets of rain rippled across the hills of Resembool, and the gray sky crackled periodically with lightning. 

Al, who had taken a strategic place near the front window to do some reading, was the first to see Edward approach (of course he was—he’d been neurotically eyeing the window since the crack of dawn). He stood straight up, with a strange but potent mixture of dread, relief, anticipation, and happiness rushing through him all at once. For the briefest moment, his breath hitched at the surge of emotions, and he could almost feel them, the hormones running amok through his system—cortisol, serotonin, adrenaline, and all the rest—but with a concerted effort, he calmed himself down and brought his focus back to the here and now.

Ed stomped up the front steps, and his familiar, uneven gait was a sudden comfort to Al. This was his Brother. For the entirety of their tumultuous lives, Ed’s presence had meant _home_.

“Open up in there, it’s me—goddamn it, I’m fucking drenched, if you don’t let—”

Al opened the door.

For a moment, Ed just stood before him, mouth open, hair soaked and dripping, golden eyes wide. Then he said, “Shit, Alphonse, you look _great_.”

Then Ed lurched forward and squeezed him into a hug so tight Al thought he might actually suffocate. 

“Can’t—breathe—” Al rasped, and Ed broke away, actually appearing a bit abashed for once.

“Sorry, Al. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m fine,” said Al, wringing out the water that Ed had dripped all over his shirt. “I’m not nearly as fragile as I used to be.”

“I can tell! You must have put on like fifteen pounds since we first got your body back!”

It was at this point that Winry finally made her appearance, padding into the foyer. She was rubbing her eyes, clearly woken up from sleep by all the noise. Her hair was mussed and tangled, and she wore the soft pajama shorts that Al adored, along with a simple tank top.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” she teased, voice still heavy with sleep. She approached him, but then paused. “I’d hug you, you big idiot, but you’re completely soaked.”

“That’s not my fault! I swear, this fucking weather is stalking me. It was raining all the goddamn time in Creta—which is apparently normal over there, but fuck that anyway. And _then_ it follows me back to Amestris? It’s like some kind of cosmic joke!”

Then Ed blinked. “Why were you sleeping in the guest room, Win?”

Al stilled and shared a brief, panicked glance with her. It was just their luck. Of course Edward—stupid, brilliant Edward—would notice that, first thing. For the past few nights they’d been sleeping together, just side by side, not sex or anything (not that Al hadn’t fantasized about it, of course). Winry, taking initiative as was her nature, had appeared at Al’s room one evening and simply slid under the covers next to him. From that night on, she’d done the same.

Al, thinking fast, did the only thing that he could to derail that train of thought. “Ed, we have some news about Granny.”

Winry visibly flinched at his words, and Al wished he hadn’t had to delve into this so suddenly. If only they could extend the happy reunion just a little longer.

“Yeah, where is she? Is she doing all right? Is she asleep?” Ed asked, his voice growing hushed, although he was still glancing around like she might emerge from a room at any moment.

Winry took a deep, shuddering breath, said, “Ed, she--” and then broke off into a sob.

Ed’s eyes sharpened in alarm and yes, fear. He swiveled around to Al.

“She was really old, Ed, and sick,” explained Al, not knowing how to say this. “She… she passed away.”

“No,” he whispered.

Winry nodded, tears in her eyes. “We didn’t want to tell you in a letter.”

“Are… are you okay?” Ed asked her, and Al felt oddly proud of his brother. Ed wasn’t always the best with people, but his first instinct was to make sure that Winry was all right.

Winry gave an aborted shrug that could mean anything. Al knew what she meant. Of course she wasn’t okay--but she wasn’t a weeping wreck all hours of the day anymore. She was dealing.

“I don’t fucking care what you say, I’m hugging you anyway,” said Ed, and then—soaked to the bone and all—he swept her into his arms and she buried her face in his neck.

Al immediately bristled and looked away. They were all too comfortable standing there so close, holding one another. Ed wasn’t doing anything un-brotherly, but it was like Al’s fears brought to life. What if, despite her words, Winry realized she really did want Edward now that they were here, together? They were certainly cozy already.

Winry gave one or two heaving cries and then, bizarrely, her sobs turned into laughter, and she was giggling into Ed’s neck.

“Get off me, you asshole—you feel like a drowned rat,” she laughed. “Some great comfort _you_ are; now I’m freezing cold _and_ completely drenched.”

They peeled apart, Winry shoving Ed on the shoulder playfully. “I’m going to go change. Then you’ll have to tell us about Creta, okay? And… we’ll tell you more about Granny, too.”

“Sounds like a plan, gearhead,” said Ed fondly. They watched her disappear away to her bedroom. Al couldn’t help his eyes lingering on her bum.

Then Edward turned to him. “Well, shit. Is she really okay?”

“She’s getting there,” said Al heavily.

Ed sighed, a flash of devastation crossing his features. “Granny… she was always so strong, you know? And she’s been old for fucking ever. She didn’t seem like the dying type.”

 _Real sensitive, Ed._ Al mentally took back whatever brownie points he had given his brother earlier for that last sentence. At the same time, however, Al was suddenly fiercely glad that Ed had never seen the way Granny’s health—and especially her mind—had declined so rapidly. At least his memories of her as the energetic, headstrong, brilliant woman she was would stay intact.

Al sighed. “I guess it was just her time.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Ed dripping a sizable puddle onto the floor.

“Say Al, you wouldn’t happen to have some extra clothes, too? I’m pretty sure everything I own needs to dry out,” said Edward, pointedly holding up his soaked bag.

“Well, you could borrow some,” said Al, marvelling at the fact that he even _could_ loan clothes to Ed. As a suit of armor, he hadn’t worn clothes for years. Weeks ago, Winry had dragged him to the tailor in town to get him fitted for some new things, and now he had a workable selection to choose from. “But,” he suggested, “I can think of something a little better.”

Clapping his hands, he visualized a drying array in his mind and pressed his palms to Ed’s bag. Immediately, the blue glow of alchemy lit up his face, the energy crackling around him, and the bag was completely dry.

“Right,” said Ed with a crooked smile. “Thanks. Goes to show how much I’ve been learning to deal without alchemy that I didn’t even think of asking you for that.”

Al eyed him worriedly, considering that maybe it wasn’t very kind to perform alchemy so flagrantly in front of his brother. It couldn’t be easy, watching Al so easily wield the power that he’d given up.

“Don’t worry about it, Al,” said Ed, heading off that discussion. “Roy was the same way at first; it’s like he thought that just because I didn’t have my alchemy anymore that he wasn’t allowed to use his in front of me, either.

“I miss it, of course I do, but I’d give it up a thousand times over without any hesitation at all. It was worth it, as long as you’re okay.”

Ed’s eyes swept over him, inspecting him as if looking for defects.

“I’m… I’m good, really,” said Al. “And what did they do to you, over in Creta? You’ve turned into a big sap!”

“Oh shut it,” said Ed, punching him in the shoulder. “You know I missed the hell out of you.”

Al smiled. “I missed you too, Brother.”

\--

Talking about Granny and her decline was anything but easy, but over that day the three of them faced it together. Then, of course, came along the unexpected hurdle of informing Ed about Hohenheim, too. At that news, Ed’s faced went closed off, becoming shuttered and dark.

“I see,” said Ed, his voice neutral. Al eyed him warily. Whenever Ed showed no emotion at all, that was when he was the scariest.

“Did you want to… go to the gravesite?” asked Al tentatively.

“Are you fucking kidding, Al?” exploded Ed. There it was. “I’m not giving that bastard the satisfaction of crying over his fucking-finally-dead body, that immortal twat!”

“Just asking,” he said quietly.

“I suppose you’re all broken up over it, huh? You shouldn’t be. That pathetic excuse for a father deserves everything he got!”

“He was still our Dad, Brother…”

“So the fuck what?!” Ed shouted. “I’m glad he finally croaked—about fucking time after four hundred fucking years!”

Winry was watching the two of them, her head swinging from one to the other like she was witnessing a tennis match.

There was a ringing silence after that statement, and then Ed stood up roughly. “Fuck you guys and your fucking understanding silence—I’m not some goddamn spectacle, I got enough of that in Creta thank you very much!” He stalked outside, slamming the door behind him, fuming.

Al turned to Winry in his wake, wincing. She muttered, “That didn’t go so well.”

Al sighed. “It was probably inevitable. We had to drop the news about that _and_ Granny all in one day. It would been a miracle if he _hadn’t_ stormed away swearing at some point.”

“Guess you’re right,” said Winry as she settled down next to him and leaned into his side. “Only one more bombshell to go.”

“Yeah,” said Al. “We should wait some more before telling him about us, though. I don’t think I can take more of that right now.”

“Agreed.”

\--

It took some time for Ed to cool off, but before long he was back to being his usual Brotherly self, full of energy and spitfire.

He would join Al some mornings when Al did his exercises to build back his muscles, working on strength in his newly-restored right arm. Then, they got back to sparring lightly, which Al now sucked at. He felt completely out of place in his new body; he was so used to sparring with Edward as a seven-foot-tall suit of armor, with no threat of exhaustion, inhuman strength, and incredible reach. Now, he felt rather gimped in comparison.

“Hah!” said Edward in satisfaction as he stood over Al sprawled on the ground. “Just goes to show, size isn’t everything.”

Al blinked up at him. “...Did...did you just admit you’re still shorter than me?”

Ed froze. “...Aw, _shit_.” He looked around shiftily. “Don’t tell Winry.”

Al suppressed the laugh that was bubbling up within him, adopting a grave expression. _She can see that for herself, Brother,_ he wanted to say, but instead he said solemnly, “Not a word.”

Ed offered him a hand to help him up, but playfully Al took it and instead yanked Edward down with him, so that they were both laying, backs on the grass.

“You little asshole, Al,” said Ed, laughing in surprise. Then his voice turned more serious. “You _are_ different. The old you wouldn’t have done that.”

“Armor-me would have _hurt_ you if I’d done that,” pointed out Al.

“I guess...”

Al, recognizing an opportunity, propped himself up on his elbows to meet his older brother’s eyes. “I mean it, Brother. A lot of who I am, how I acted, then… it was because I was in the armor.”

“So you’re saying it’s _my_ fault, then,” said Edward bitterly. “It wasn’t the Gate that changed you, it was _me_ , for binding you to the armor in the first place.”

Al shook his head. “I don’t blame you—I’m just trying to explain. You were _incredible,_ Brother. You were eleven years old, bleeding out of the stump of your recently torn-off leg, and you managed to alchemize a _soul binding_ in your own blood while giving up your arm for me. That’s… it’s unbelievable. The very fact that I’m alive—and that you bound me to something mobile—is a miracle. Can you imagine if you’d drawn the soul array on something else… like a book or a piece of furniture or something? I would have been stuck as some random object. In the armor I could move around, at least, and function somewhat like a person.”

“Oh God,” said Edward. “Can you imagine if I’d bound your soul to a _book_?”

Distantly, Al wondered if the sheer enormity of Edward’s accomplishment would ever really sink in for his brother. Edward seemed to wave that whole bit off and focus on just the last point.

“If I’d been a book, I’m pretty sure Sheska would have run off with me at some point,” teased Al. “But really, Brother. It’s not that the Gate changed me, not on purpose anyway. It’s just that being a suit of armor for five years left its mark. And now… now I can do some things I couldn’t before. And, as you’ve just seen, I can’t do other things as well. Like spar with you.”

“You should work on that,” said Edward seriously. “Beating you is fun, Al, but I wiped the floor with you. You need to be able to protect yourself. I won’t… always be around.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Whoa, chill, I didn’t mean that in an ‘imminent demise’ sort of way,” chuckled Edward at Al’s stricken expression. “It’s just that I’m going to be traveling around with the military, it looks like. I need to know you can take care of yourself.”

Al raised an eyebrow. “So you’re sticking with Mustang and crew? I’m surprised.”

Ed shrugged and looked away. “I like it.”

 _Interesting_ , Al mused. It was quite an about-face from Edward’s earlier opinions about his military service. He wondered what had happened in Creta, and maybe even before that, to change Ed’s mind.

“You’re not mad, are you?” asked Edward suddenly. “I don’t mean to, you know, leave you behind. If you wanted, you could apply for the state alchemist program and be part of Roy’s team, too—you’d pass the test in a fucking cinch. I mean, of course that carries with it the threat of being called to war, but if Roy continues what he’s started, then Amestris and the military are in for a lot of change, so it shouldn’t actually ever _happen_ —”

“Ed… Brother,” said Alphonse firmly, “It’s fine. I don’t want to be in the military, but I’m glad you’re happy there.”

“...Are you sure?” asked Edward, his golden eyes imploring.

“Absolutely. For now, I’m happy to be in Resembool again. Maybe the time will come when I want to go somewhere else—and I’ll probably be researching alchemy no matter where I am—but right now I’m really satisfied to be here and learning how to be a real, flesh person again. I promise.”

“All right,” said Edward. “As long as you keep working on your sparring. There may not be a lot of threats in Resembool, but I’m not taking any fucking chances.”

Al grinned. “I wish more people knew you were such a mother hen. You have no idea how many people would find it hilarious.”

“Ha-ha,” said Ed flatly, “Very funny. Just promise me, okay Al?”

“You know I will, Brother.”

\--

Everything was going really well, up until the inevitable moment that Ed found out.

It was firmly Al and Winry’s fault this time—they should have told Ed days ago about their relationship, but it had just been so much easier to hide it and avoid the confrontation as long as possible. Of course, this resulted in what was probably the worst way for everything to be revealed.

Al was, as usual, up late reading one night after both Ed and Winry had gone to sleep. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, but he powered through, wanting to enjoy the quiet dark hours on his own. Those wee hours of the night had once been his domain, when all others were sleeping, and as tired as he was, he missed the steady solitude of those times, when he could think and read in total peace.

Everything was normal until he heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps. Blinking into the darkness, he saw that Winry had come into the sitting room. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight that was coming in beams through the open windows, and Al’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“Hey, Al,” she said, sitting next to him on the sofa. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

“I could if I wanted to,” he said. “I just… I like the nighttime.”

“When you were little, you weren’t much of a night-owl,” she pointed out. “I remember Ed was the one that would stay up late, but you were always the early riser.”

“I guess I’m both, now. Late nights _and_ early mornings. It’s an armor-thing,” he explained, which had become a phrase that Winry now understood well. 

“Ah,” she said easily, leaning her head on his shoulder. He loved that about her. She had a healthy interest in his life in the armor, but she didn’t pester him to explain every last one of the unusual habits that he’d gained from those years.

He stroked a hand through her hair, which was a sensation that they both enjoyed equally. Al loved to run his fingers along the silken strands; with his oversensitivity to touch, it was really quite pleasurable. 

“You’re beautiful, Win,” he said quietly. “I don’t say it enough.”

“And you’re a hopeless romantic, Alphonse,” she said, and while he wasn’t looking at her, he could hear the smile in her voice.

He twisted and leaned over to kiss her, starting at her mouth, but then peppering kisses down her jaw and neck. Her skin was so warm and smooth under his lips, and he loved the way her breath hitched as he nuzzled her, nipping lightly at her ear. 

“Al,” she breathed. “Oh God.”

His hands were roaming all over her, any earlier tiredness completely evaporated. He was utterly engrossed with the swell of her breasts, the way she writhed beneath him, breathing hard. His dick was at once extremely hard, straining against the fabric of his pajama pants.

And then Winry’s hand was on his cock, and even through the cloth he thought it might be the best fucking feeling he’d ever experienced. He felt then, for a few brief moments, his tenuous grip on reality slipping away, lost in the tactile sensations, and he put his hand on top of hers, stilling it before she pushed him over the edge.

“You okay, Al?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he panted, collecting himself, bringing his focus back. He wasn’t going to have another episode, not this time. “P-please. Keep going.”

She grinned wickedly, but instead of resuming her stroking, this time she slipped off the sofa and knelt before him, tugging down his pants. Al watched, frozen with anticipation, unable to believe this was actually happening—and then her mouth was on him, and he shuddered, letting out an embarrassingly audible cry.

“Shh, Al,” she said, pulling off of him for a moment. “Ed’ll hear!”

Al didn’t fucking care if Ed heard a thing; he was getting his first-ever blow job by a beautiful girl, and there was no way his brother was going to factor into this equation. Winry’s mouth was so wet and warm, and the way her tongue lapped up and down his shaft was divine, perfect, transcendent. 

“Al?”

Ed was standing in the doorway to the sitting room. It was dark, but not nearly dark enough to hide what was going on; moonlight streamed through the windows. His brother’s mouth was agape, and their eyes met—Ed’s incredulous, Al’s panicked—as Winry froze, mouth still on his cock.

“Oh, shit,” he said numbly.

“Al, what the fuck is going on— _Winry_ —”

Winry stood up and wiped her mouth, facing Ed as well, her face mortified. Al hastily pulled his pants up.

For a moment, the three of them stared at one another, no one speaking, until Ed finally broke from his shock and barreled toward Al, punching him squarely in the jaw. The two of them tumbled to the ground, Al’s head colliding painfully with the hardwood flooring, and then they were wrestling—and not in the playful kind of way.

Al was doing anything possible to shield himself from further blows—Ed was fucking murderous, intent on hurting him—and this was nothing like their sparring sessions where they’d hold back, always aware that it was practice. Winry was yelling at them but Al could hardly hear a thing; blood was rushing in his ears, his face hurt like a bitch, and in a haze of dread he felt the now-familiar feeling of his body becoming rapidly overwhelmed. 

The stinging in his jaw and head, the screeching noise, the quick jump from pleasure to pain—it was all too much, and to his horror, Al felt himself losing grip on reality, fading into nothingness.

\--

When Al woke, he blinked up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. Winry. Her eyes were glistening, heavy with tears, and when he finally moved she let out a long gasp of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, hugging him. 

“I’m okay,” Al croaked, but speaking _hurt_ —his lip was definitely swollen; it felt like it had doubled in size—and his jaw ached fiercely.

She pressed an icepack to his face. “Hold that there,” she ordered.

Al did as she said, peering around the room. Edward was there, but he was sitting stiffly in the far chair, his nose sluggishly bleeding as he stared at the ground with a sullen expression.

“Right,” said Winry. “Now that you’ve stopped trying to fucking maim your brother, Edward, I think we have some things to talk about.”

“Yeah, no _shit_ ,” said Edward scathingly. “How about starting with the fact that my little brother had his fucking dick in your mouth.”

Winry faltered for a moment but then looked heavenward, as if trying to gather her strength. “All right, _fine_ ,” she snapped at last. “Let’s start there, why won’t we? Yes, Ed, that happened. Do you have a problem with it?”

Ed gaped. Al didn’t know why he looked so surprised. Was he really expecting that Winry was going to deny it?

“He—he shouldn’t be taking advantage of you, like that!” cried Edward. “I thought I was starting to understand you, again, Al, but I have no idea who you are anymore.”

Al rose to a sitting position, his abused stomach muscles screaming with the motion, and stared his brother in the eyes. “This doesn’t change anything, Brother. I… I’m sorry, but I love her.”

Winry’s head snapped right back to him. Her eyes were wide. “You do?” she asked softly. Al hadn’t said those words to her yet, but they were the truest words he’d ever uttered.

He nodded.

“You call that _love_?” scoffed Edward, interrupting the moment. “Maybe you were stuck in the armor too long, Alphonse, because that’s _lust_ , you fucking idiot. Maybe it’s my fault that you can’t tell one from the other, like I didn’t raise you right—”

“Shut the hell up, Ed,” said Alphonse. “You have no right to tell me what I feel. I’m not keeping it anything a secret anymore—”

“No secrets, huh? Just like you didn’t tell me about those… _episodes_ that Winry told me about while you were out cold?”

Edward’s face was drawn and severe. It was then Al noticed that Edward was trembling, not in anger, but in fear. 

“I thought I killed you, Al,” he said brokenly, his voice shaking. “You just went all limp and… and unresponsive…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” whispered Al. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Yeah, well good fucking job!” shouted Ed.

“Edward,” said Winry warningly. 

“I just want some answers, is that too much to ask?”

“Fine,” said Winry. “If you couldn’t gather it from earlier, Al and I are dating. And before you get it into your stupid head that he somehow seduced me or took advantage of me, I’d like to point out that this is entirely mutual. And besides, Al would never do something like that. It was hard enough to convince him to be _in_ the relationship because he was worried about _you_.”

“But—but, I thought…” spluttered Ed, clearly at a loss.

“I used to like you, Ed,” admitted Winry. “But I’ve made my choice, and I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

Ed stared at them, eyes flitting between their two faces. “Wait, what?”

Winry exchanged a confused glance with Al. “Al said you’d been in love with me for practically ever.”

“Uh,” said Ed, “I mean, maybe I used to think there was a chance, but recently… look, you’re just like a sister to me.”

This was news to Al. “Really? Brother, why didn’t you say so! I was agonizing over this for weeks—”

“Don’t think that lets you off the hook, Alphonse,” said Ed darkly. Then he grew tentative and almost awkward. “I just… discovered I like something else. Someone else. A different type.”

Winry and Al stared at him.

“ _I like guys too, okay_?” exploded Edward. “There, I fucking said it, now you can judge me.”

“Oh my God,” said Alphonse, all the pieces finally coming together at once. The way Ed had talked about his time in Creta. The sudden shift from ‘Mustang’ to ‘Roy’ and the nonstop references to the man in both Edward’s letters and his stories. “You’re in love with Roy Mustang.”

“ _Jesus,_ Al, do you have to just come out and say it like that?” cried Edward, throwing his hands up in the air.

“So it’s true?” asked Winry, stunned.

“Yeah,” said Ed moodily. “Al got it right, as usual.”

“What the hell, then, Ed!” said Winry. “Why are you being such a jerk about us if you’re not in love with me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because my little brother is getting his dick sucked in the middle of the night by the closest thing I have to a sister, and neither of you thought to tell me you were even together? What the hell was I supposed to think?”

There was a pregnant silence after that statement.

“That… was our fault,” said Al. “We thought you’d take it badly, so we kept putting off telling you.”

“Congratulations on that, it turned out really fucking well. Good plan, Alphonse.”

“Brother…”

“I’m going to take a walk before I do something stupid,” said Ed. “You guys do your thing, I’m not going to fucking get in the way of your young love or whatever.”

With that, Edward headed outside, slamming the door.

Winry turned to Al. “Well, that went about as terribly as it could have.”

“Yeah,” agreed Al miserably, pressing the icepack to his jaw.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Bad. Edward definitely knows how to punch.”

Winry sighed. “Yes he does. If I can go my whole life without ever seeing you guys fist-fight again, I’ll be happy.”

“If it helps, I don’t think anything else is going to make him snap like that. He’s been suspicious about me recently, and how much I’ve changed since coming out of the armor, and if he thought I was hurting you…”

“Which you weren’t, by the way, just to set the record straight.”

“That’s good,” said Al wryly. “Because you were incredible for that minute or so before Ed showed up.”

Winry smiled, wiping at her face where her tears had dried earlier.

“I guess I should have seen it coming, Ed being in love with the General, but I can barely wrap my head around it. I thought they just really liked annoying one another. There’s the age difference, and I didn’t even consider that Ed could… well, you know,” said Al.

“That he could like guys too?” Winry supplied. “I mean, when I really think about it, it’s not too surprising. Ed’s the type to chase after a person for _who_ they are, gender be damned.”

“I suppose if anyone could handle Ed, it would be the General,” mused Al.

“I can’t say I know him well, but I’ll take your word for it,” said Winry. “Good luck to him, though—that’s not going to be easy.”

Al sighed. “Things with Edward never are.”

\--

Winry managed to go to back to sleep, much to Al’s amazement. She pointed out that tomorrow was a workday and she had appointments in the morning, but nevertheless Al was surprised that she could fall asleep after everything that had happened during the night.

Al remained awake in the dark, too worked up to read and too much in pain to lay down. Edward really had done a number on him. He sighed, patting his face gingerly.

When the sky began to lighten, however, Alphonse started to worry. Ed still hadn’t returned from his “walk,” and there was no telling what his brother would get up to when he was upset. 

With some effort, Al laced up his boots and grabbed a coat, heading outside in the chill pre-dawn air. He wasn’t certain, but he had a good suspicion about where Ed might have gone.

He followed the familiar worn path to the Resembool cemetery, and when he crested the hill, he spotted Edward exactly where he thought he would be—sitting before Trisha’s grave, next to the stone statue of Hohenheim.

Quietly—but not stealthily, as Al didn’t want to startle him—Al approached, crouching in the grass a few feet to Edward’s right. Ed looked briefly at him before staring back at their mother’s headstone; otherwise, he had no reaction at all.

They sat in silence for a long time, until the sun began to crest over the horizon.

“I’m sorry, Brother,” said Al finally.

Edward let out a long sigh, blowing his bangs to the side. “Man, Al, I thought it would be different. I thought that once I got you back in your body, everything would be perfect.”

“You always put me on a pedestal,” said Al softly. “I don’t think there was any way I could live up to how you thought about me.”

“Can you blame me? You’re my only family, Alphonse, and for so long everything I did was for you. I love you.”

Al could count on one hand the number of times Ed had actually said that to him, even though the fact of it was evident in everything his brother did. Al swallowed thickly, fighting back tears.

“I would never hurt Winry,” he said instead. “I hope you know that.”

Ed sighed again. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But goddamn, Al, it’s a real fucking wakeup call seeing you guys together. I mean, you barely got your body back, and now this? Jesus. This must be how parents feel when they realize their kids are having sex.”

Al’s cheeks burned. “That—that was the farthest we’ve gone—”

“I don’t need _details_ , Alphonse, ugh!”

“Right.”

“Shit, Al, I can’t even look at you right now, with your face all beat up. Can you imagine what Mom would say if she saw us right now? I can’t believe I did that to you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t thinking at all.”

“It’s no excuse. I… I guess I was just jealous.”

Al’s eyebrows flew skyward. “But I thought you said you didn’t think about Winry like that anymore.”

“Not about Winry, Al. I mean… so there’s this thing going on between me and Roy.”

“Yeah,” said Al, clearing his throat. “How’s that going?”

“It’s all fucked up. We’ve been hanging out all the time. I hate the Bastard, don’t get me wrong, but… being with him is the most fun I’ve ever had. And then in Creta I kissed him, once…”

“You _did_?” Up until this point, Al was fairly certain that this whole thing might be completely one-sided.

“Yeah,” said Ed grumpily. “And he kissed me back, only to tell me that we couldn’t do this, look at the age gap, look at the military ranks, fraternization, ‘I wanna be Fuhrer,’ blah blah blah. It’s just not fair that you get to be so happy when I’m stuck with the Bastard being his bastardly, stupid self.”

“Ed, none of those reasons that he gave you were _personal_ reasons. It sounds like he likes you after all, he just thinks there’s a bunch of red tape in the way.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not giving up. I don’t care what a bunch of laws and social constructs say—fuck that, if he’s gonna be Fuhrer, then he’ll amend the laws.”

“It’ll work out, Brother. I’ve never seen you fail to do anything you’ve set your mind to.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” groused Edward.

After a moment, Al added, just to be sure, “But… you’re okay with this? Winry n’ me?”

“I guess so… if you treat her right. I don’t want you fucking with her just because you’re horny, Al. And _fuck_ , I can’t believe my little brother has sexual urges, I mean, seriously this happened way too fucking fast for me,” Ed groaned. “I heard you make that noise last night—that little cry… thing—and I thought you were in trouble.”

“Nope,” Al squeaked. “No trouble at all.”

“No kidding…”

Then Ed started laughing, and Al couldn’t help but join in. The sky was now orange with light, and the sun had begun to warm their faces.

“I think you and Winry are great, Al,” said Ed at last, once the hysterical chuckles died down. “Just, for the love of all that is holy, never let me walk in on something like that again.”

“Deal,” said Alphonse immediately. 

“Good.” Ed stood up, and gave one last, tender look at Trisha’s headstone and even a sidelong glance at Hohenheim’s stone statue. “Now let’s go home so Winry knows we didn’t kill each other.”

Al straightened up gingerly and brushed off his clothes. Birds were twittering happy overhead, and a warm summer breeze rippled across his skin, an early sign of how hot the day was going to be. Edward stood before him, hands in his pockets, hair coming loose from his braid and tangling in the wind.

“You coming, Al? I’ll race you back!”

Ed took off, leaving Al to sprint behind him, yelling, “That’s not fair— _Brother!_ ”

His body still ached from fighting with Ed hours ago, but he pushed through it and ran after Edward, almost at peace with the pain. It hurt, but he felt so goddamn _alive_. He had his Brother, and he had a home, and an unbelievable relationship with an amazing girl. He’d never felt further from the machine he used to be. 

It had been over a month since he’d gotten out of the armor, but Alphonse Elric had finally learned how to be real.


End file.
